


Slowly, together.

by mimi_of_the_earth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Charles Magnussen is creepy creep and Mycroft shouldn't be friends with him, F/M, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:50:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3279104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimi_of_the_earth/pseuds/mimi_of_the_earth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mycroft was 15 everything collapsed, now after 3 years it is a moment to star pulling things up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slowly, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Another AU with fem!Mycroft and for the first time with Charles Magnussen. Also all of them are younger and Holmes parents aren’t nice like they are in the series. Also I made Sherrinford who is 10 years older than Mycroft. One more – Holmeses are well – known family so when things happened they are in the newspapers.

Mycroft was fifteen when her father caught her with a boy. They were kissing, just kissing, but her father kicked the boy out. Before the boy, Mycroft had never thought she could kiss someone who was not her father. She knew that what he was doing to her was wrong, but there was Sherlock to protect and Sherrinford ran away when he turned eighteen. Not that she blamed him, she would ran too, but Sherlock was too small right now.

He beat Mycroft. Punched her in the face, in the stomach, even kicked her a few times.

“Only bad girls cry! Are you a bad girl, Mycroft?”

Mycroft said no. Mycroft always said no. But this time was different. Her father… Her father made Mycroft get undressed. Then he made Mycroft lean over the desk.

“Let’s see if you can be a good girl.”

Mycroft didn’t cry. She covered her mouth and closed her eyes and she didn’t cry. When it’s done, when it’s all done, her father slapped her on the back.

“I guess you can be good, sometimes.”

Mycroft waited until her father had left the room, then she threw up. She threw up until she couldn’t anymore. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, dressed and went up to the bathroom. She took straight razor that used to belong to her grandfather. She considered slitting her wrists, no one would come looking for her until morning. She lightly pressed the edge to her wrist and watched the small amount of blood that showed up. The she shook her head. No, not this.

She waited instead.

Her father was passed out drunk on a couch when Mycroft walked into the room. His body jerked once, when Mycroft slit his throat.

When her father was dead she called an ambulance and police.

Her mother was still screaming when they took her away.

O

No one was very nice to her until they found that she was bleeding. Then there was a hospital visit and social worker came to talk with her.

o

Mycroft lawyers made some kind of deal and she was admitted to psychiatric hospital.

O

The doctor leaned back in his chair and said. “You have PTSD, Mycroft. But don’t worry, we are going to do our best to help you.

Mycroft folded her arms in her lap and stared at the paperweight on the doctor’s desk. “I don’t think so.” She hissed.

O

She let the days slip away into grey nothing. They had no pattern. The past didn’t affect her present.

The doctors called it dissociation, Mycroft called it survival.

O

Three months after her eighteen birthday, they pronounced her fit for society. Her new personal assistant picked her up from hospital and drove her to Oxford. It took a lot of convincing her doctor that she was ready, but eventually he agreed on university.

It was a few weeks before classes start, but she and her assistant spent time checking her schedule and walking around Oxford. 

O

Mycroft still had some perception problems. Every morning her assistant woke her up, told her time and day of the week, otherwise she might try to go to classes on a weekend.

Her days were filled with classes, lectures and in general work. On the weekend she visited her doctor and design riddles for Sherlock.

O

She was always a half hour early to her political history lecture. She sat in the first row closest to the exit so she could hurry out before the rush of the students. She liked the first row, because no one like it, no one sat here so she didn’t have to talk to anyone.

No one bothered her and she didn’t bother anyone.

Until one day – it is cold, but not yet snowing – a boy sat next to her. Mycroft tensed, but didn’t look up from her book.

“You are Mycroft Holmes.” The boy said and Mycroft fought the urge to gather her things and ran out.  
“I don’t give interviews.” She mumbled, because she didn’t know what to say.  
“I am not looking for an interview.” The boy shoved his hand out to shake. “I am Charles Magnussen.”

Mycroft stared at the boy’s hand, it looked soft, nails trimmed, the boy had to be rich. “I don’t shake hands.”  
“Right.” The boy pulled back his hand. “We should get tea sometime.”  
“Why?” Mycroft glanced at the boy, he has brownish hair and bright eyes, smile twisted his mouth.  
The boy shrugged. “You look like you could use a friend. And, I guess I could use one too. We could go get tea now, if you like.”  
“I have a schedule.”  
“But all you do is sit here.”

Mycroft pressed her lips together and began to write notes in the margin of the book.

“Okay.” The boy tapped his foot and huffed softly. “What if I come early next time and bring tea with me?”  
“You are allowed to do whatever you want.” She said with the frown. She was just about to ask the boy to go away, when she stopped and thought. Both her doctor and her assistant thought she should make friends. Maybe they would leave her alone if she had tea with this boy. “I take my tea without sugar.”  
“Good to know.” The boy chuckled and slapped Mycroft on the back, she jerked away from the touch. “Sorry, sorry.”

O

She didn’t like when her mother visited, always without Sherlock. She sat in her favourite chair while mother took the couch. 

“How is university?” She asked for the third time.  
And for the third time, Mycroft said. “Fine, it is fine.”  
“Good, that’s good. Sherrinford is sorry he couldn’t come, the business in the Whitehall is taking his time.”  
“Hmmm.” Mycroft looked over her shoulder at the window. The sky was grey and it looked like raining. “And Sherlock?”  
“He made a friend, John Watson, they go to one class. Now he is in Natural History Museum with Watsons. Are you going to come home for Christmas?”  
She shuddered. “No.”  
“Your brothers and I could come here?”  
Mycroft closed her eyes. “No.”  
“Maybe New Year or Sherlock’s birthday?”  
“Maybe.”

O

The boy with bright eyes looked over Mycroft’s notebook and titled his head. “Is this a plan of terroristic attack?” He sounded almost eager and Mycroft closed her sketchbook.  
“You can’t see it.” She said. “It is not for you, it is for my brother.”  
“Your brother?”  
“For Christmas.”  
“Jesus, what are you going to give your mom? A nuclear missile?”

It felt like someone had spilled ice water on her back, she gasped and tensed.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” The boy said, hands raised in placation.  
“Go away.”  
“Mycroft…” The boy tried to touch her, but she jerked away.  
“Go away.” She almost yelled and Charles packed his things and rushed away. Mycroft’s hands shook and she felt like throwing up. She couldn’t stay here. She showed her things to her bag and left.

She didn’t leave her apartment for a week. Not even to see her doctor.

o

“What are the rules, Mycroft?” What did you promise to do when I signed your release papers?”  
Mycroft stared down on the floor, arms crossed over her chest. “I don’t remember.”  
“Yes, you do.” The doctor sighed. “Mycroft, look at me. Look. At. Me.”

She bit her bottom lip and forced her eyes up.

The doctor stared at her dispassionately. “What did you promise?”  
“That I am going to take my medications and I am not going to skip any of my sessions.” She swallowed and forced herself to relax. She couldn’t antagonize her doctor, not if she wanted to stay at Oxford. “I’m sorry.  
“Don’t do that again, Mycroft.” The doctor said after a moment.  
“I won’t, I promise.”

O

Mycroft’s face was cold and her feet kept slipping on the icy sidewalk as she and her assistant walk from the campus to her apartment. Her assistant was talking about something, Mycroft didn’t listen too busy looking at the Christmas decorations in shop’s windows.

They passed a little tea shop that Mycroft never went, because she was allergic to hipsters. She glanced in and suddenly stumbled to stop.

“Mycroft, are you all right?” Her assistant asked.  
“I… I want tea.” She said and pulled the door opened. The shop was almost empty excepts for a group of teenagers in the corner.

The man behind the counter – young, 25, brown hair and eyes, quite muscular – smiled and said. “Welcome to Gold Fish Tea Shop how can I help you?”

Mycroft noticed a nametag – Greg.

“Tea.” She managed to squeak out and her face went hot with embarrassment.  
“Let me guess.” Greg said. “Wild fruits and honey.”

It sounded disgusting, but Mycroft found herself nodding.

“I like it too.” Greg chuckled softly. “Actually it is my favourite.”  
She nodded again, blushing even harder. She reached into her pocket for her wallet. “H – How much?”  
“On the house.”  
Mycroft looked up in surprise and Greg’s face was pink but he was smiling. “Thank you.”  
“You are welcome. Have a seat and I’ll bring it to you.”  
“Okay.” She said and found a table in a corner away from windows. Her assistant sat next to her.

“I thought you don’t like sweet drinks.”  
She took off her coat and scarf. “I do.”  
“You said flavoured tea is abomination.” Her assistant smiled and Mycroft scowled.  
“Wild fruit tea is my favourite.” And just to prove it, when Greg brought her drink, she gulped it down. She burned her tongue and tea was of course too sweet.

O

Gold Fish Tea Shop was Mycroft’s favourite place. She went there every day after classes. She sat down and did her research, drank tea and watched Greg. 

Sometimes Greg waved and smiled. Sometimes he sent over free tea that was too sweet and too light, but she drank it anyway.

Then one day Greg walked over, a big cup in his hands and said. “Okay, if I sit with you?”  
Mycroft felt her face flushed and ducked her head to hide it. “Sure.”  
“Thanks.” Greg settled in the chair with a groan. “The guy who usually opens the shop called in sick so I had to come earlier. I am bushed.”  
“That’s too bad.” She stared down and opened her Game theory book.  
“Yeah.” Greg cleared his throat. “So, what do you study?”  
“Game theory and linguistics.”   
“Wow, you must be pretty smart.” Greg said.  
“I am a genius.” She closed her books and straighten her papers. “Why don’t you study if you are older than me?” She blurted out before she could stop herself. “Sorry.”  
Greg laughed softly. “No, it is fine, I am still trying to figure out what I want to do, I travelled a bit, now I am here, but how did you know all of that?”  
Mycroft hesitated for a moment. “I deduced it.”  
“You what? But how? It is pretty amazing, like mind reading.”  
“You can’t read minds, I can’t too, I just see more than others.”  
“Greg groaned and stretched. “I should probably head home. Will I see you tomorrow?”  
“What day is tomorrow?” She gave Greg a quick glance.  
“Friday.”  
“Yes, you will see me tomorrow.”

O

“What do you do for fun?” Her doctor asked.  
Mycroft looked from her notebook in surprise. “What do you mean?”  
“It’s not a difficult question, Mycroft. You are eighteen year old. What do you do for fun? Parties? You hang out with friends? Have you joined any clubs? Maybe cinema?”  
“I have 70 inch flat screen TV. Why would I need to go to cinema?”  
She shrugged and tapped her heel against the leg of her chair. “I spent a lot time on my classes.”  
"Alone?"  
"I like being alone."

“Mycroft.” Her doctor said softly. “I don’t expect you to turn into party animal, but you should try to be a little more sociable. Just a bit.”  
“The is a boy in my political history lecture. I talk to him.”  
“What is his name.”  
“He’s got brownish hair and bright eyes. He gets manicure.” Mycroft stared at her own bitten nails.  
“That is very good description, but what is his name?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“Did he not tell you his name or did you forget it?”  
Mycroft shrugged and kicked the leg of the chair harder.  
“What is my name, Mycroft?”  
“Doctor.”  
“That is not my name. What is my name? Come on, Mycroft, you see my nameplate on the door every time you come here.”  
“It is Mike Stamford.” She crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes.  
"And the boy's name?" Because what Mycroft said or did was never enough.  
“Charles.”  
“It is important to use names, Mycroft.” The doctor said.  
“I don’t want to talk anymore. I am not going to talk anymore.” Her lips trembled and breath hitched in her throat but she didn’t cry. Only bad girls cry.

O

Mycroft was tired. She hadn’t been sleeping well and felt like everybody wanted something from her. All she wanted to do was crawled into bed and stayed there, but she knew she couldn’t, because her assistant would call her doctor and Mycroft liked university. And she liked her apartment and the tea shop and well she liked Greg. 

Greg was cute… and Mycroft liked his smile and…

Mycroft had a long conversation with her mother about coming home for Christmas, this one over phone. Mother kept asking and Mycroft kept saying no. She couldn’t go back there. She wouldn’t go back there.

She was so tired.

She went for a tea even if she was supposed to be in class. Greg took one look at her and brought her scones to tea.

“Thanks” She said her voice shaking with exhaustion.  
Greg settled in a chair. “Wanna talk about it?”  
She sipped her tea. “You are working.”  
“I will take my lunch break earlier.” Greg nudged Mycroft’s foot. “So, talk.”  
“My mother wants me home for Christmas.” She picked at the scone. “She still lives in the house where… where I…” She looked up at Greg, her eyes stinging. “You recognize me, right? You know who I am? What I did?”  
“Yeah.” Greg said softly. “I know who you are, Mycroft.”  
“She says they’ve remodelled that it is different.” She rubbed her eyes. “But I can’t, I can’t, they could tear the place down and rebuild and it would be still the same for me. “ She took a deep breath.  
“Then don’t go. Tell your ma that you got invited to Christmas with some friends.”  
Mycroft looked away and whispered. “I don’t have any friends and she knows it.”  
Greg touched her hand. “You got me.” Mycroft looked at him with surprise and Greg smiled. “What? You think I give everybody free tea?”  
“N – No.” Mycroft blushed and pulled her hand from Greg.   
“Exactly. Only my close and personal friends get free stuff. And I am planning to stay in Oxford. I was thinking about starting my own traditions. How does pizza and Christmas movies sounds to you?” Greg picked up a piece of Mycroft’s scone an ate it.  
“You don’t know me, I could… Maybe Christmas movies will make me snap.”  
Greg snorted. “That is a chance I am willing to take.”

O

“I am throwing New Year’s party.” The bright eyed boy said as they sat and waited for the professor to show. “You should come.”  
“I don’t do well at parties.” She glanced up a the clock, fifteen minutes until lecture started.  
“Have you gone to a party since they let you out on parole?”  
“I am not on the parole.” She leaned away from the boy.  
“I throw great parties.” The boy put his hand on Mycroft’s wrist.

Mycroft tried jerking her hand away, but the boy pinned it to the desk, it hurt. “Let go.”  
“Come to my party.”  
“Okay, now let me go.” Her heart was beating fast and she felt sick.  
“Not like that. “ The boy grinned at her. “Look me in the eyes and say, I promise I will come to your party, Charles, it sounds like fun.”  
Mycroft let out a gasp as the grip on her hand tightened further and looked at Charles. “I promise, I will come to your party, Charles, it sounds like fun. Now let me go.”  
Charles squeezed Mycroft’s wrist until her eyes sting, then let’s go. “Cool I will email you my address.”

She cradled her wrist to her chest and stared at Charles.

“You are not going to cry, are you?”  
“No.” She said angrily.   
Charles grinned at her, sly and secretive. “Good.”

o

“I didn’t realize Charles was a close friend.” The doctor said clasping his hands.  
“He’s not.” Mycroft’s shoes were wet and uncomfortable.  
“But you are staying at his place for Christmas.”

She rolled her eyes, because of course her mother would tell her doctor about her plans. “I am not, Gregory asked me to spend Christmas with him.”  
“Gregory?” The doctor started in surprise. “You’ve never mentioned Gregory before. Is he in one of your classes?”  
“No.” She rubbed thumb against her trousers and shrugged. “He works at the tea shop near my apartment. He’s got brown hair and eyes and sometimes when he is bored he read about police work. He smells like Old Spice.”  
“You like him.”  
Mycroft blinked and gave the doctor an innocent wide – eyed look. “He is a friend.”  
The doctor made sour face. “Don’t prevaricate, Mycroft.”  
She huffed. “We are just friends, that is all.”  
"Good. You haven't been out that long. You're not ready to date."   
“I know, okay?” She gritted her teeth "I'm still vulnerable and fragile and I might break if boy looks at me, I fucking know! Sometimes, I just want to pretend that I'm normal."  
"You are normal. You're just—"   
She covered her ears. “I want to go home.”  
“Okay, you can do that.”

O 

Mycroft adjusted the collar of her shirt and fidgeted with the present in her hands before knocking on Greg’s front door. 

A few moments later, the door opened and Greg Smiled at her. “Merry Christmas.”  
“Merry Christmas.” Mycroft held out the gift and Greg took the package.  
“Thanks.” Greg ushered Mycroft in and took her coat and scarf. “I got something for you too, it is under the tree.” He gestured to the small Christmas tree on the coffee table, there was a box wrapped in a bright red paper. ”Go on, open it up.”  
Mycroft sat on the couch picked up the gift, ripped the paper off and opened the box. She laughed softly. Greg bought her an “I Love Math” mug. “It is great, thank you.”  
Greg grinned at her and unwrapped his own gift. It is a moleskine and elegant pen. “Oh, wow, Mycroft.”  
“When you become Detective Inspector you will need it.”  
“Wow, but you can’t exactly know that, why DI?”  
“Why not? And I know you can.” Mycroft shrugged and asked. “So what are we watching?”  
“We start from Die Hard, absolutely canonical Christmas movie.” Greg said smiling. Mycroft looked at him curiously.   
“And what it had to do with Christmas?”  
“Seriously, have you ever watched it?” Greg asked gently. Mycroft shook her head.  
“All right, I think you have many stuff from pop culture to know. And it is good to start with decent Bruce Willis movie.”

It was… good, nice in a quiet way Mycroft didn’t even think was possible. Just sitting and watching movies, Of course after five minutes she knew how would they ended, but it was the best Christmas she had ever remembered. 

Before she headed home, she turned to Greg and asked. “”A…a friend of mine is having a New Year’s party next week. You, um, do you want to go?”  
“Oh.” Greg looked uncomfortable, Mycroft heart sank. “I can’t. I’ve got closing shift that night.”  
“No, yes, of course.” Mycroft gave a high – pitched laugh. “It was stupid of me to ask.”  
“Hey, no, it wasn’t.” Greg touched her shoulder. “Give me the address later and maybe I will try stopping after work.”  
She nodded. “Okay, I will do that then.”  
“Alright.” Greg smiled. “Good night, Mycroft.”  
“You too, Merry Christmas, Gregory.”

O

The party was loud and crowded and she only saw Charles about five seconds, which was long enough for Charles to shove a tumbler with whisky into Mycroft’s hand. She finished it and turned to the vodka spiked punch. The vodka made her queasy, but she kept drinking it, because it blurred the edges.

What she really wanted was to go home, but she stayed because maybe Greg would come.

Charles found her sometime later and dragged her to bedroom. She was drunk and tired so she followed obediently. Charles kicked out everyone in the room.

"I hate you." She faced him. "I fucking hate you!"  
Charles approached her. “You love me.”  
“You are delusional!” She looked away feeling angry and nauseated.  
Charles shoved Mycroft up against the wall and got in her face. “Spare me the poor little, rich kid act, Holmes, Jesus Christ, they actually got you believing you are nothing but a victim.”  
Mycroft looked at him. “Let me go.”  
“Make me.” Charles leaned in and whispered in Mycroft’s ear. “Come on, make me, I know you are not a victim. I know you are not some fragile little flower. So fucking make me let you go.”  
“Why are you doing this?” Mycroft was shaking, not sure why.  
“Because, you have a power and you don’t even know it. “ They noses were practically touching.  
“What power?” Mycroft didn’t remember feeling so powerless.  
“Fear.” Charles eyes lighted up with excitement. “Fear is power, Mycroft. Someone fears you enough they will do whatever you want, whenever you want. You know that better than anyone.”  
She did, God, she did. “I don’t want to have that kind of power.”’  
“Sure you do.” Charles took a few steps back and grinned. “You could be so powerful, Mycroft. No one could ever hurt you again. You know I am right. That’s why you love me, or you will. Because I am gonna take that power and make you great.” He sat on the bed and patted the space next to him.  
Mycroft knew she should leave, she should walk out, but she sat down instead. “And you are going to help me for nothing?”  
“It is always good to have powerful friends Mycroft.” Charles leaned back on his elbows. “Tell me you are not tired of being weak. Scared.”

She stared down at her heels.

“What was it like slitting that bastard’s throat?” Charles asked softly. “Did it feel good?”  
Mycroft’s breath stuttered out of her. “Yes, yes, it felt good.”  
Charles laughed. “That is what I thought.”

O 

She hated that Charles was right. They did convince her that she was a victim. But she was not. A victim wouldn’t have done what she did. She was strong, stronger than they thought she was.

And maybe she was a little drunk. Or a lot drunk.

Yes, definitely a lot drunk.

She walked home and her head was spinning and her stomach felt like it was going to rebel any moment. But it was quiet and snowing and her cheeks hurt from the cold.

She passed the tea shop and looked in when she saw light. Greg was… Greg was sitting at one of the tables, writing something on the napkin. Mycroft leaned her forehead against the glass and knocked.

Greg’s head jerked up in surprise and he smiled when he saw Mycroft. She smiled back, then she turned her head threw up on the sidewalk. Ugh.

A moment later, the door opened and Greg put an arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay?”  
“Yes.” She said. “I’m drunk.”  
“I can see that.” Greg manoeuvred her into the shop and pushed onto the chair. “Where is Anthea?”  
“Who?” Mycroft frowned.  
“Your assistant.” Greg sais slowly like she was stupid.  
“Oh, she’s got the night off.” She took a breath. “You didn’t come.”  
“It was late.” Greg handled her a bottle of water.  
“It was a New Year’s party.” She opened the bottle and took few sips. “I waited for you.”  
“I am sorry.” Greg looked away.

And suddenly Mycroft couldn’t understand how she didn’t see that earlier. It was obvious. “You lied, you wouldn’t come.”  
“I didn’t lie, I said I would try to…” Greg swallowed hard and rubbed his mouth. “I don’t like crowds much.”  
“Neither do I, but I was there.” Mycroft put the bottle on the table. Disappointment made her chest ache.  
“I am really sorry.” Greg said softly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”  
She slumped in her chair and picked at the water bottle label. “I think, I like you, Gregory.”  
“I like you too, Mycroft.” Greg sighted. “Look, you are drunk and I am tired. Why don’t I walk you home?”  
“Yes, okay.” She stumbled to her feet and when Greg tried to help her she jerked away.

O

“Fuck him.” Charles said slinging an arm around Mycroft’s shoulders. “You don’t need him, you got me.”  
“Right.” She smiled to him and told herself it was time to grow some balls.

O

Mycroft managed to stay away from tea shop for three whole weeks before she gave in to her craving for one of their wild fruits tea.

Greg was wiping the table when Mycroft came in and he smiled and waved.

Mycroft ignored the greeting. Instead she paid for her tea and sat down at her favourite table and start reading in Russian. She got through most of the first chapter before Greg sat next to her.

“I haven’t seen you for a while.” He said fidgeting.  
“I have been busy, still am.” She stared at the page.  
“Oh, sorry.” Greg got to his feet but didn’t go away. He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t trying to be a jerk. I am just not very good at this sort of thing. You don’t have to forgive me. But I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you.”  
Greg turned to go and Mycroft said. “Wait. Just… wait.” She took a deep breath and looked up Greg. This was stupid. “My assistant has Friday off. And I… usually I just sit in my apartment, you could come over, you promised me more movies. If you want.”  
“Okay, I would like that.”

Mycroft nodded and turned to her book.

O 

“It is not a date.” Mycroft said curling her body away from Charles.  
“Yeah, it is, Mycroft. Jesus Christ, you're just gonna let him stomp all over you. He's just gonna hurt you, you know that, right?"  
“She closed her eyes. “It’s pizza and movie.  
Charles made a sound of disgust. “Fine, but don’t come crying to me when he stands you up again.”

O 

“We talked about this.” The doctor said, a frown on his face.  
“It is not a date. I am just meeting with a friend!” Mycroft crossed her arms over her stomach.  
“You like this boy.”  
“As a friend.” She fought the urge to storm out of the room.  
"You're not ready for a romantic entanglement."  
“I don’t think you can decide that.” Mycroft said coldly and stood up. “I think it is my decision.”  
The doctor blinked up at her, calm and collected. “Do you think you are ready? And be honest, do you?”  
“I don’t know, but this one time I am willing to try.” Her voice sounded fake.  
The doctor sighed. “I want you to promise me, that you will call me or Anthea if things get too overwhelming for you.”  
She almost protested. “Alright, I promise.”

O 

Greg brought pizza and movies. About Indiana Jones and no Mycroft didn’t watch them, why would she?

Greg smiled and Mycroft smiled back. A few minutes later, they were both sitting on a couch, not touching, there was no touching, eating pizza and watching Riders of the lost Ark. 

It was weird at first, weirder than the first time they did this at Christmas. Every time Greg shifted Mycroft tensed and looked over. But Greg seemed oblivious to the whole thing. Greg didn’t try to scoot closer or put his arm around her shoulders. Maybe he expected Mycroft to do it?

The very idea made her stomach clenched. She bit her bottom lip and turned to the movie.

Mycroft hummed and glanced down at Greg’s hand, half curled and so close to Mycroft’s thigh. She let out a little huff, stared at the TV screen and rested her hand on Greg’s. There was a tense moment when nothing happened, then Greg moved his hand, threading his fingers through Mycroft’s and squeezing gently.

After a movie Greg decided it was late and he should head home.

Mycroft walked him to the door and stood there awkwardly. “Thank you for coming.”  
“Thanks for inviting me.” Greg shifted from one foot to other. “I had really great time.”  
“Me too.” She wondered if Greg was going to kiss her. She wondered if she wanted Greg to kiss her. “Maybe we could do it again soon.”  
“Yeah, I’d like that.” Greg reached over and ran a finger down Mycroft’s cheek. “Maybe next Friday?”  
She nodded face going hot. “We could watch more Indiana Jones.”  
“It is a date.”  
Mycroft tensed and she is not sure why. “Right, a date.”  
“Unless you don’t want it to be.” Greg said quickly.  
“No, no, I do, I do.” She did, she took a deep breath and stepped closer to Greg. “A date.”  
Greg smiled and touched Mycroft’s face again. “I will see you Monday?”  
“Y – Yes.”   
“Okay.” Greg took a step back and opened a door. “See you then.”  
“Monday.” She closed the door behind Greg and cursed softly. God she was such an idiot.

O 

“So” Charles said next day when they were sitting in Mycroft’s living room. “How was he?”  
Mycroft frowned and looked up from her book. “How was who with what?”  
Charles rolled his eyes. “Your soon to be a policeman.”  
“What are you, my shrink?”  
“Come on, Mycroft.” Charles grinned and titled his head. “You didn’t fuck, did you?”  
“That’s none of your business.”  
“So, that’s no. Hmmm.” Charles eyes went cold and his grin turned sharp and cruel. “You are a virgin.”  
“That’s really none of your business.” Mycroft raised to her feet, she needed drink, but Charles grabbed her by the wrist. “Let go.”

Charles yanked her back down on the couch and straddled her thighs. Mycroft looked away. “I’ve never fucked a virgin before.”  
“You are not fucking one now.” She was tensed and her stomach knotted up.  
“Aww, baby.” Charles leaned in and nuzzled her ear. “You know I love you.”  
She closed her eyes and clenched her hands. “Stop it.”  
“He doesn’t know you like I do, Mycroft.” Charles licked her ear and made her shudder. “He doesn’t know all the dark places inside of you. Let me open you up. Let me get inside of you.”

Mycroft whimpered. 

“Why would you want me to stop?”  
“I just do.”  
“Then make me stop.” Charles nipped her earlobe. “Punch me, push me off, bite my neck so hard I bleed out. Come on, Mycroft, either make me stop or shut the fuck up.”

She shook her head and bit her lips so hard she felt blood. A moment later she heard the sound of a zipper being pulled down, then Charles was moaning and rubbed up against her stomach. She wanted to shove him off, she wanted to scream. But she didn’t. She just sat there and took it, feeling small and ashamed. She didn’t open her eyes again until Charles was done and sitting next to her on the couch. The room was too bright and Charles face was flushed.

“You should clean up, Mycroft. You are a mess.” Charles glanced her way and made a moue of disgust.

Mycroft narrowed her eyes and clenched her hands into fists. She remembered the overpowering smell of blood and wet sounds of dying. She let out an angry growl and… and Charles cried out when Mycroft punched him hard enough to break his nose.

O 

“I am so fucking proud of you.” Charles said thickly. “Now take me to the goddamn hospital before I choke to death on my own blood.”

O 

The second date was better. They watched Temple of Doom and Greg held her hand and leaned in every once in a while to whisper in her ear.

It’s nice. It’s normal. It made Mycroft heart race and her mouth dry and she wondered if she was falling in love.

“I want to kiss you.” She said when the movie was over.  
Greg smiled. “Are you sure? I know this is all new for you. I don’t want you to think that you have to…”  
Mycroft pressed her fingers against Greg’s mouth to stop the words then curled her hand around the back of Greg’s neck and pulled him close. “I want to kiss you.”  
“Okay.” Greg whispered and held very still.

Mycroft leaned in and brushed their mouth together. Then pulled back, body tense, and she realized, she was waiting, waiting for. No. She turned her head and stared at the wall.

"You're safe. We're both safe." Greg’s voice was soft and he didn’t touch Mycroft. “You know, when I was a kid I was pretty scrawny, but I had a mouth on me. I had never known when to shut up, so I got into trouble, constantly and usually ended beat up. Then I grew up, but sometimes… It is hard to forget the lesson you learnt when you were a kid. It is hard to go of those reactions.”  
“It was a good kiss.”  
“It was a great kiss.” Greg took a deep breath. “But just because we kissed once, doesn’t mean we have to do it again. We don’t have to do anything that scares you or makes you uncomfortable, okay?”

She nodded.

“Do you want me to go?”

Mycroft shook her head and held out her hand, she was still looking away.

Greg took her hand and squeezed it. They sat quietly like that for another hour before Greg went home.

She didn’t tell her doctor about the kiss or about Charles. She said just enough to keep doctor from suggesting another stay in hospital.

O 

Charles lounged on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, his fingers laced together, resting on his stomach.

Mycroft was sitting in an armchair, watching him. “Sometimes I dream about it. About slitting his throat. My doctor assumes they’re nightmares.”  
“Your doctor probably had a dad who hugged him and went to all his recitals.” Charles’ voice was full of bitterness.  
“Probably.” She rubbed her nose and shrugged. “Sometimes they are.”  
Charles rolled his eyes. “Why are you telling me this shit anyway? Don’t you have boyfriend for this touchy, feely crap?”  
“We don’t talk about this stuff. I don’t want to scare him off.”  
“He already knows you killed your father. If that didn’t scare him off, few nightmares won’t either.”

O 

Mycroft was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, her family always had servants. She had never even cleaned her own room. So she enjoyed helping Greg closed the tea shop. 

When they were done, they usually headed to Greg’s apartment. This time was different.

Greg pulled up a chair and gestured for Mycroft to do the same. “I need to talk to you about something. I don’t want you to freak out, okay?”  
“Okay.” She said, her pulse raced.  
“I am not going to be able to come this Friday.” Greg took her hand. “I have to go to London, a friend of mine is getting married, my best friend actually.”  
Mycroft frowned and tried to remember what Greg had told her about his friends. “Peter Dimmock, right?”  
“Yeah, that’s him.” He squeezed her hand. “He is getting married on Sunday and I have to do the whole bachelor party thing.”  
“Oh, right.” Mycroft looked down at the table, there was a scratch. “I could go with you.”  
“I.. I don’t think it is a good idea.” Greg’s voice was soft and there was a slight tremor.

Then Mycroft remembered something Greg told her about Peter, he already worked for New Scotland Yard. She looked up. “Because I am a murderer?”  
“What?” Greg blinked in surprise. “No! You are not…”  
“As a matter of fact I am.” She said. She was tired of talking around the subject. “I killed my father. I slit his throat and watched him die.”  
“Mycroft…”  
“It is okay. Lots of people are afraid of me. One of my professors refuses to be alone with me.” She smiled. “It makes office hours really awkward”  
“Jeez, Mycroft.” Greg swallowed hard.  
She shrugged and looked away. “Are you afraid of me, Gregory?”  
“No!” Greg gripped her by the chin. “Look at me.” When Mycroft did, Greg leaned in and kissed her hard. “I am not afraid of you. I have never been afraid of you. I didn’t ask you to come with me, because, yeah, my friends would be uncomfortable and I knew it would hurt you.”  
“I… It is alright, I don’t care, if you want me to go I could.”  
Greg looked at her and Mycroft made her best to not hide her feelings. A moment later Greg nodded. “ Would you like to go to a wedding with me?”  
Mycroft let out a bark of laughter. “Yes, of course, I would like.”

O 

When Mycroft told Charles, he made a disgusted noise and grimaced. "If you come back with the bridal bouquet, I will grab a pillow and put you out of your fucking misery."

O 

Greg listened to punk and rock music. It shouldn’t really surprise her. Greg was twenty five. He had a leather jacket and old motorcycle that was in need of repairing. So of course he would listened to Sex Pistols.

“If you don’t like it, we can listen to the radio.” Greg said, because Mycroft might say all of this aloud.  
“No, no, it is fine. It is your car, you are driving.” She looked out the window.  
“There is nothing wrong with motorcycles.” Greg turned up the volume.

Ugh.

O 

She got a room at Hilton, because as much as she liked Greg, she was not staying. in whatever hotel he found. Besides, she should probably keep contact with Greg’s friends to minimum.

Greg dropped her off in front of the hotel with a promise that they would meet for lunch tomorrow. Mycroft waved him off then checked in.

She unpacked her things and headed out.

O 

Mycroft walked into Whitehall like she owned the place. Which she would one day, probably, sort of. She ignored the stares and the whispers and the way people suddenly rushed away. She signed in a security desk and went to her destination.

A secretary was waiting for her. She used to be her father secretary. “Hello, Mrs. Pick.” She said. “Is my brother in?”  
“Hello dear.” Her smile was forced. “Your brother is in a meeting now. But you can wait for him inside.”  
Charles called this power, but all it did was leave Mycroft feeling weak. “Thank you, there is no need of showing me way.”

The secretary laughed, high and scared, and hurried away.

The office was completely different, but it was expected. Her brother had always had more minimalistic style than their father. Mycroft sat into an armchair, hands clasped in her lap and waited.

An hour passed before the door opened and her brother came into the room. She got to her feet, back straight, eyes forward.

“Mycroft” Her brother smiled and rushed forward pulling her into an embrace. “What are you doing here? Mummy didn’t tell me you were visiting.”

Tears prickled in her eyes and she grabbed a hold of Sherrinford and hugged him tightly.

“Easy there, Myc, easy.” Sherrinford rubbed small circles along her back and didn’t pull away.  
She buried her face against Sherrinford’s shirt and did her best to pull herself together. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me.”  
“I always want to see you, sis, always.” Sherrinford gave her a couple of minutes more, then pulled away. “What are you doing here? Where is your assistant?”  
Mycroft cleared her throat and rubbed her eyes. “A friend of mine had to drive up here for a wedding and he invited me along. I am staying at Hilton.”  
“And your assistant?” Sherrinford clicked his tongue when Mycroft didn’t say anything. “You ditched her.”

Mycroft shrugged and Sherrinford ruffled her hair.

"You're a menace. Have you been by to visit mummy yet?"  
“No.” She said softly. “Sherry, I can’t. I can’t go back there. I… I just can’t.”  
“No, of course you can’t.” Sherrinford sighed. “Why don’t I call mummy and have her meet us at my place. We’ll have dinner and talk. In a meantime, you can call your assistant and let her know where you are. Okay?”  
“Sherlock is coming to?  
“Yes, why not?”  
“Okay.”

O 

Her mother hugged her and pressed kisses to her forehead and cheeks. Sherlock didn’t say a world, still angry, he couldn’t talk with her for so long.

Sherrinford rolled his eyes. “Mummy, mummy, give her some room to breathe.”  
“I can’t help it.” She pulled away, her eyes shining with tears. “I am so glad to see you.”  
“I am glad to see you too.” Mycroft looked away and hunched her shoulders.  
“What are you doing here sweetheart?” She stroke her hair back from her face.  
“I am going to a wedding with a friend of mine, I thought I’d see you while I was here.”  
“Where are you staying?” She asked hopefully.  
“She stays with me, mummy.” Sherrinford grinned and slang an arm around Mycroft’s shoulders.   
“Good, that’s good.” Her mother took a deep breath and smiled. “So this friend… is he…. A boyfriend?”  
"No, he's just a friend."  
"I'd like to meet him. Maybe we could have dinner or breakfast, if you like? “ She took a step towards Mycroft who pulled away from Sherrinford and moved across the room.  
“He is the best man, so he is busy. Can we get dinner soon? I’m hungry.”  
“Thai?” Sheririnford asked. Mycroft nodded.

O

“Thank you for covering me earlier. If she knew I was staying at Hilton she probably would have insisted I stay at the mansion.”  
“Don’t worry about it.” Sherrinford handed Mycroft a glass of scotch, then settled on the couch. “You and your friend could stay in my house, you know, I’ve got a guest bedroom.”  
Mycroft sipped her drink. “I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”  
“You are my sister. You could never be an inconvenience.” Sherrinford stretched out his legs and nudges Mycroft. “Come on, stay with me. Pretty please?”  
She smiled and nudged him back. “Okay.”  
Sherrinford grinned and titled his head. “So, this guy’s…”  
"He's not my boyfriend!" She said, exasperated.  
"Okay, but do you want him to be?"  
“Why?” Mycroft stared into her glass. “Are you going to tell me I am not ready If I say yes?”  
“If you need me to.” Sherrinford leaned over and touched Mycroft arm, “Do you need me to?”  
"I like him. I really like him, but we're taking it slow. I mean, we've only kissed a couple of times." She looked up at Sherrinford. "He's a really nice guy."   
"Glad to hear it. I'd hate to have to use my resources to utterly destroy him. Which I still might do if he hurts you."  
“Sherry.” Mycroft rolled her eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know, I know you can. I just… I…” Sherrinford sighted. “I know I’ve been crappy brother up until now…”  
“No, you haven’t.” Mycroft shook her head.  
“Yes, I have, hey, I have.” Sherrinford rubbed his mouth and leaned back. He was quiet for a few moments, then said. “I should have protected you from father.”  
“Sher, no, stop.” She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to talk about this.  
“Yes, Mycroft, I knew he was abusive monster and mummy knew too. We were supposed to protect you and Sherlock.. We were supposed to take care of you.” Sherrinford voice was trembling. Mycroft shook her head and opened her mouth but Sherrinford continued. “"You were a kid. You should have never been in that position. It was our job to keep you safe and we failed. We both failed."   
Mycroft finished her drink, then turned away from Sherrinford. “I wanted to run away too, like you, but I was too scared.”  
“We both know it is a lie, you were never too scared, you stayed, because you cared more about Sherlock then I cared about you two.”  
“I don’t want to talk about this.”  
“Mycroft…”  
“I don’t want to talk about it!” She closed her eyes.  
“Okay, I am sorry.” Sherrinford sniffled and cleared his throat. “I love you.”  
“I know.” She bit her bottom lip and opened her eyes. “Can I have another drink?”  
“Yes.” Sherrinford grabbed her glass. “I could use another one too.”

O 

They met for a lunch in a small coffee shop a few blocks from Sherrinford’s apartment. It was small and quiet, no one looked at them. 

“You don’t look hangover.” Mycroft said.  
“That is because I am not.” Greg stole one of her chips and leaned back in his seat. “I was the designated sober person.”  
"Oh. It went well, then?"   
Greg shrugged. “We got kicked out of a strip club.”  
Mycroft smiled. "Isn't that how they're supposed to turn out?"  
"So I've been told." Greg stole another chip and Mycroft sighed and pushed plate to him. “Thanks, how was your night?”  
“I saw my mother and Sherry.” She was quiet until Greg kicked her under the table. “My mother was… herself. But it was nice to see Sherry, talk to him. He invited us to stay at his place. I hope you don’t mind, but I decided to take his offer.”  
“Of course I don’t mind. You should spend time with your family while we are here. So, how was Sherlock, you saw him too, didn’t you?”  
“He still doesn’t want to talk with me.”  
“You will see, one day he will.”  
"What about your friends? Did you tell them about me? Do they mind me coming to the wedding?" She didn’t want to take focus away from bride and groom. She didn’t want people staring at her and whispering about her.  
“They’re fine with it.” Greg smiled. “So the rehearsal is this evening, so we have about five hours to kill. What do you want to do after lunch?”  
“I don’t know. Whatever you want.”

O 

Whatever Greg wanted turned out to be hanging out at the tea shop and people watching.

“But we do this all the time.” Mycroft protested.  
“No, you do this all the time.” Greg looked out the window sipping his drink. “I work.”  
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “What is so exciting about this anyway?”  
“It is not exciting, it is interesting.” Greg reached over and covered Mycroft’s hand. “Like that guy, right there.”  
“The creeper?” There was a man in a trench coat, dark glasses and knitted cup standing outside the tea shop trying to look inconspicuous and failing miserably. “What about him?”  
“I bet he is a spy and works for MI6.” Greg grinned at her. “He is probably going to save the world.  
“He doesn’t work for MI6.” Mycroft said quietly but firmly.  
Greg looked at her. “Shit, I still forgetting that you probably knows his whole life history, his parents and grandparents histories too… Wait, so I was right is he a spy? But not for MI6? For whom? Russians? Americans? Come on, tell me.”  
“I think it is classified and you could have trouble if you know.” Mycroft couldn’t stop grinning.  
“Oi, are you making fun of me?”  
“Nope, I am not going to tell you.”  
“Will you dance with me at the reception?”  
She chuckled nervously. “I’m your date. I think that is a part of the job description.”  
“Yeah.” Greg brought Mycroft’s hand up and kissed knuckles.

She blushed and her mouth went dry.

O 

When Greg introduced her to the bride and the groom – Sally and Peter. The bride asked.

“Will you be attending the wedding as well?

Mycroft nodded and shuffled closer to Greg who put an arm around her.

“It is nice to meet you.” The groom said though it wasn’t sound like that or maybe Mycroft just overreacting.  
She offered a weak smile. “It is nice to meet both of you. Gregory speaks highly of you.”

When they moved on, she slumped into her chair and closed her eyes. She shouldn’t have come, she should stay with Sherrinford.

Greg touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”  
“Yes.” She opened her eyes. “I could use a drink, though.”

O

Mycroft was pretty tipsy after the rehearsal dinner. They both were actually. When they got back to Sherrinford’s apartment, they tried to be quiet, but Greg tripped over the coffee table and Mycroft laughed, because it was the funniest thing she had ever seen.

“Shhh.” Greg said climbing to his feet. He put his hand over Mycroft’s mouth, so she licked it. Greg dropped his hand and grimaced. “Disgusting!”  
“Shhh.” Mycroft giggled softly and clutched at Greg’s shirt. “You will wake Sherry.” She covered Greg’s mouth with her own. Oh, that’s much better. So much better. She parted her lips when Greg licked her mouth and moaned.  
“Myc? Is that you? Oh, hey!” Sherrinford stumbled to a stop, eyes widening, Greg jerked back in surprise. “Sorry, I didn’t realize…”  
“No.” Greg said, his face bright red and his back so straight he was practically standing at attention. “We weren’t… We just…” He stopped and took a deep breath. “Hello, Mr Holmes, I’m Greg Lestrade.”  
Sherrinford shook his hand. “Call me Sherrinford. Everything okay, Mycroft?”  
Mycroft rubbed her mouth and stared down at her shoes. “Yes, fine.”  
"I left some blankets on the couch for you, Greg. There are more in the linen closet in the hall..” Sherrinford gave Greg a stern look.  
Greg swallowed hard. "Yes, sir—Mr.—Sherrinford."   
“Breakfast is at eight.” Sherrinford smiled and not very nicely. “We will talk then.”

Mycroft nodded and didn’t say anything until she heard Sherrinford’s bedroom door shut. She snickered. “I thought you would salute him.”  
"Your brother is going to skin me alive."  
"Not before breakfast. Don't worry, you'll like your last meal. He makes great French toast. " She smiled when Greg glared at her. "In for a penny, in for a pound?"  
"What?" Greg blurted out.  
Mycroft fidgeted and looked away. "The couch looks uncomfortable and the guest bed is king sized." Greg was quiet, so Mycroft continued, "Just to sleep. I'm not… I… You need to be in good shape for tomorrow."   
"I…" Greg quirked his mouth and let out a huff of air "Okay, but just to sleep." 

O

It was a mistake. She knew it was a mistake as soon as Greg slipped into the bed with her and all she could do was stared up into the darkness, tense and afraid and grimly satisfied. The past three and a half years had been as near to carefully constructed perfection as one could get and she was tired of it.

She reached over and fumbled around until she found Greg’s wrist. She wrapped her hand around it and held tight. “I don’t know that I’ll ever be ready.”  
“I don’t care.”  
“You say that now, but…”  
“Shut up, Mycroft.” Greg broke out of Mycroft’s grip, only to thread their fingers together. “I want a good night’s sleep before my last meal.” He yawned and squeezed her hand. “Don’t snore.”

O

When Mycroft woke up, she was alone. She lied in bed staring up at the ceiling, trying to remember where she was and when she was. She rubbed her eyes and stretched, then she remembered. Sherrinford, Greg and weddings.

Oh, oh, no Greg.

Mycroft scrambled out of bed and almost tripped on the carpet as she rushed out to made sure Sherrinford didn’t kill Greg and hid his body. She found them in the kitchen, sitting at the table, laughing. Greg looked over her and smiled.

“Glad to see you’re finally up, sleepyhead.” Sherrinford said. “There are French toasts warming up in the oven for you.”  
She let out a sigh of relief. “Tea.”  
“Let me get that for you.” Greg got to his feet and made her tea. Then he offered it to Mycroft with a kiss on the cheek and playful grin.

Mycroft blushed and sipped her tea. It was perfect.

O

“He is a nice guy.” Sherrinford said as they sat at the table drinking tea.

Greg was gone, off to do best man things, before the ceremony. Before he left he remained Mycroft to be at the church before two.

“I told you. Thank you for not scarring him off.”  
“I tried, but he is as stubborn as you are.” Sherrinford kicked her under the table, she kicked back. “Just promise me you won’t rush this.”  
“I promise.”  
“I want to talk to you about something. About this summer.”  
“Yes.”  
“Would you like to come to London this summer. I really could use your analytical skills here.” Sherrinford said softly. “We could get you an apartment if you do not want to stay with me.”  
“I don’t know.” Mycroft played with spoon. “I will think about it.”  
"I'll even find a job for your boyfriend."  
Mycroft looked up. “He is not my boyfriend and he is not material for field agent, he is not good at not being himself, Sherry.”  
Sherrinford laughed. “Oh, Mycroft, he really, really is your boyfriend.”

O 

The wedding was solemn and beautiful. The reception was another story. There was music and alcohol, a lot of alcohol.

When they came back, they sat on the bed and talk.

“Your brother is scary.” Greg said loosening his bowtie.  
“It comes with the position or so I’ve been told.”  
“Anyway what he is doing exactly for a living?”  
“You really don’t want to know.”  
“Are you going to do the same?”  
“I.. I honestly don’t know, this position is traditional for Holmes, but I don’t know. Why?”  
“After he finished threatening me, he offered me a job.”  
Mycroft chuckled and shook her head. “He wants me to move back to London for the summer.”  
“Oh.” Greg put an arm around her shoulders. “Do you want to come back here for the summer?”  
“No.” She looked at Greg. “But you probably should consider his offer, though it will be even more exciting than police work, more dangerous too.”  
“What do you want to do, then?”

She wanted to go back in time and be fifteen again. She wanted to make different choices. She wanted to be a different person. “I… I want to stay in Oxford. I want to fire my assistant and my shrink and get drunk with my best friend and watch movies with my boyfriend. I want to learn how to drive and… I want to do everything but stay here for the summer."   
“Okay.” Greg nodded. “Do that then. I will even teach you how to drive, if you want.”  
“What’s about job offer?”  
Greg shrugged and kissed her cheek. “I am not ready to come back either.” 

O 

"Be forewarned," Charles said when Mycroft called him on the way home. "I have my pillows fluffed and ready to smother you."  
"Are you coming on to me? Seriously, I don't know whether to be scared or turned on right now." She propped her feet on the dashboard, earning a dirty look from Greg.  
"Don't make me throw up. Did you catch the bouquet?"   
“Actually, yes.”  
"Ugh, you would." Charles let out a heavy sigh." When are you coming back? I'm bored."   
Mycroft rolled her eyes. "We're actually on our way back now. Greg and I are going to watch a movie at my place. You can come if you want."  
"Only if there's booze. There's gonna be booze, right?  
"Whatever. We'll be home in an hour. Bring pizza." She hung up and grinned at Greg. "You're going to hate Charles."   
"I'm sure we'll be fine." Greg took her hand.  
"You're going to want to punch him in the nose. *I* want to punch him in the nose."   
"Then why be friends with him?" Greg asked.  
"Because I can." Mycroft shrugged and turned up the radio.


End file.
